


No gold can stay

by to_be_empty



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_be_empty/pseuds/to_be_empty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wha – what happened?” he finally lets out in a gasp.</p><p>Of course he knows what happened. He knows. He hasn’t seen or talked to Matt in over a month but he knows what happened as he stands frozen, nailed to his kitchen floor. What could happen but the worst?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No gold can stay

**Author's Note:**

> This season hurt too much. So I guess I'm here to hurt more?
> 
> The story and chapter titles are from Stay Gold by First Aid Kit.

“Foggy?”

Karen’s voice sounds small, scared.

“Karen?” Foggy responds, alert in a sharp instant after the draining day he had. “What’s wrong? Are you oka – ”

“It’s Matt,” Karen croaks out. She takes a shaky breath and continues before Foggy can make a sound, “We’re – we’re at Metro General.”

Foggy tries to breathe properly but his lungs have dropped down to his stomach and together, they’ve begun to sink even further down. He opens his mouth to force out something, anything.

“Wha – what happened?” he finally lets out in a gasp.

Of course he knows what happened. He knows. He hasn’t seen or talked to Matt in over a month but he knows what happened as he stands frozen, nailed to his kitchen floor. What could happen but the worst?

Foggy holds on to the breakfast bar in front of him and tries to ignore the icy water running down his back.

“ – found him on the floor,” Karen’s panting, “I-I-I think he was – he was trying to reach his phone. It was – it was – ” She cuts herself off with a wordless sound of frustration and doesn’t say anything for a few beats. Foggy imagines her free hand pressing on her mouth, her bright eyes darting around the room she’s in – to find what, he doesn’t know.

“Foggy,” she whispers, “God, Foggy, it was horrible. He was passed out and he’d thrown up and he wasn’t moving – ”

“Karen – ”

“ – but I kept calling his name… and then he stirred and-and he c-came to, for just a few seconds…” she trails off.

Foggy stares down at his straining knuckles where he’s grasping the bar as tightly and mindlessly as a newborn baby. They stay silent on both ends of the line, save for all the labored breathing, as he slowly pries his fingers away from the countertop and wills his legs to take him to his front door.

“Karen,” he starts. There’s so much he wants to say, yet so little he can actually say. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He doesn’t realize he’s left his keys in the apartment until he’s paying the cabbie in front of the E.R.  

*

“Karen!”

Her head snaps up as she hears Foggy calling her name. He’s moving towards her, breaking through the miserable E.R. crowd with big, quick strides. Karen’s never seen him move so fast. She stops biting at her cuticles, takes her hand away from her mouth and stands up on unsteady legs to greet him.

“Karen,” he says once again, his hand closing around her shoulder, and it’s all she can do to wrap trembling arms around his neck. “Foggy,” she sighs into his shirt as he envelops her in a tight hug.

“They took him,” she says, feeling a sudden obligation to explain as she breaks the hug, “They took him and told me to wait here and I… I called you.”

Foggy gives an almost imperceptible nod, brows furrowing into an even deeper frown, and Karen dreads what he’s going to say next. She knows she’s going to have to tell him what happened, but going through that again is the last thing she wants to do.

He’s gazing over her shoulder, his eyes big and glassy. “You found him?” he asks in a timid voice after a few moments, blinking. But his gaze is still lost miles away.

Karen’s glad she doesn’t have to meet his eyes. She has to hold it together, she has to be strong. She can’t do that if she looks him in the eye. Foggy’s eyes are the most expressive pair she’s ever seen.

So she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, clutches her purse to her shoulder just to have something to hold onto and starts talking, avoiding his eyes all the while.

She hates the way her voice sounds.

*

It’s been some time since Karen’s last been at Matt’s place. The last time she was here, there was a woman in Matt’s bed, not to mention the blind old man in his living room. Matt wanted to talk, to explain, maybe?

She remembers cutting him off, taking a quick step back.

 _“No - Why_ \- _I-I don’t want to_.”

She didn’t want anything to do with him, then. But after everything, after Frank and the Punisher and Daredevil and Matt… Part of her, a big part of her, wants to hear him explain further. Yet, another part of her wants to forget about all of it. Punisher and Daredevil be damned; she wishes to have never met either of them.

But she remembers her promise, too.

_“I promise that I’m here.”_

And Matt trusted her, in the end, finally, to tell her what was really going on with him.

She sometimes wishes he never opened his goddamn mouth. _Because how can he - how can she - ?_

How can she sit around in Ben’s office, burning the midnight oil, and not think of the worst when Matt’s not been answering his phone for an hour? How can she not worry when she knows he’s out there parkouring across the city, flipping around on rooftops and in dark alleys, fighting armed criminals with just a billy club?

Because she knows, she knows that ever since Nelson & Murdock dissolved, the dark nights of Hell’s Kitchen is the only thing Matt’s got left. Foggy left and she left and Matt was such an irresponsible, unreliable idiot so maybe he got what he deserved but… but maybe it’s not so simple. Maybe they should have… Karen doesn’t know what they should have done, or if they could have done anything at all to change this, right here.

The only thing she knows is that she has to make sure Matt is okay. Because she’s pretty sure no one else will. 

Karen starts banging on Matt’s door in frustration when there’s still no response after her incessant knocking for the past few minutes.

“Matt!” she whisper-shouts, trying not to panic.

She stops banging on the door and plasters one ear to it instead, straining to hear something, anything.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, listening, when she finally picks up a faint, piteous sound – a clipped moan. It’s hard to relate such a vulnerable sound to the strong, stoic man she knows but it’s either that or she’s started hallucinating – _can you even hallucinate sounds?_   

“Matt,” she calls loudly, banging an open hand against the door, hard.

Another clipped moan – it’s even stronger this time.

And just like that, Karen takes off sprinting towards the roof access before she’s even fully aware of what she’s doing.

She yanks the door open and enters Matt’s apartment from the roof. She’s standing at the top of the stairs, the self-closing door not even closed all the way behind her, when she spots him – so pale against the darkness of the apartment, he’s practically glowing in the dim light. A shrill cry escapes her throat for a split second before she can press a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

Matt’s lying completely still on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table. He’s half on his side, his left hand stretched over his head and his face turned upwards, as if he was trying to reach for something. His right foot is still tangled up in his suit; the rest of him naked except for the black boxer briefs. The bright lights from the huge billboard across the window wash him out completely. He’s so pale and so still in that moment, he almost looks d –

_No._

Karen blinks the dreadful thought away and finds herself on the living room floor on her knees, right next to him, calling out his name.

“Matt! Matt - Matt, c’mon Matt, wake up,” she keeps muttering, putting her hands on his face as gently as she can.

He can’t be – he can’t be – there isn’t even any blood anywhere – what’s wrong with him?

Karen tries to school her own breathing and leans over him to listen.

She can hear the soft whoosh of air escaping him. “Matt,” she whispers to his beating heart and lets out the breath she was holding. That’s when she notices the acrid smell and the awful wet patch of vomit on his other side.

“Oh God.”

Is he sick? Poisoned? What the hell happened to him?

“What happened to you, Matt?” she asks him, hopeless.

She looks him over, frantic with the need to find out what exactly is wrong with him. She can’t spot any visible injuries – or at least recent ones – and she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to move him in order to check more thoroughly.

He doesn’t look like he has any open, fresh wounds but his entire body is littered with scars and bruises. She’d never even seen Matt without a shirt on, let alone practically naked. And right now, Karen can’t help but imagine all these wounds fresh. All this time, all this damage… Did he have to patch himself up, too?

_God, how much he’s suffered…_

She shudders at the thought of Matt so bloody and broken.

_Why, Matt, why?_

She traces a nasty scar on his right side, her touch soft and hesitant as if it’s still going to hurt him. But the scar is thick and white with horrible, uneven edges. Karen doubts it would still hurt. And even if it did, Matt is out cold and he doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up soon.

She stares at him for a little while to see if she can detect a sign of consciousness, but his face stays completely lax and void of expression in his stupor. Calling his name over and over and over again doesn’t seem to do any good, either. She doesn’t know what else to do. Should she call 911? What is she supposed to say to them?

And what’ll happen when they see all these scars? How do you explain a blind man having so many cuts and bruises?

Karen sighs and makes up her mind. The questions don’t matter. Matt’s obviously thrown up, he won’t wake up and that’s what’s important. So she starts looking around the dark living room, trying to locate her purse.

That’s when she notices his helmet, lying on the floor a few feet away. She gasps at the obvious dent on its back. She has no idea what that thing is made off, but the fact that it’s dented is enough to explain Matt’s state.

He took a blow to the head. He could be bleeding inside his brain for all she knows and she’s lost crucial minutes sitting on her ass, doing nothing.

Karen scrambles to her feet in a flash and doesn’t even stop for one moment to gather herself – it’s just a brief fit of dizziness at the abrupt altitude change, anyway. She grabs her purse at the foot of the stairs, snatches her phone and dials 911.

Somehow, she still has the presence of mind to stash Matt’s suit and helmet away inside the closet under the stairs before the paramedics show up.

But she ends up jostling Matt’s foot a little as she tries to rid him off the suit completely with her trembling hands.

He stirs.

Karen freezes with the stupid suit bunched up in her hands. “Matt? Matt? Are you awake, Matt?” she keeps asking, unable to stop.

Matt lets out a weak groan.

Karen throws the damn suit on the couch and crawls on the floor to get closer, in case he says something intelligible, all the while calling out his name and blubbering reassurances – for his sake or hers, she doesn’t know.

“Matt, Matt, hey, I’m here, Matt, you’re gonna be okay. Matt, you with me?”

She touches his face gently and he sighs, his eyelashes fluttering. They’re so dark against his pale cheeks.

“K’rn?”

Karen can’t help but smile a little as she confirms him. “Yes, yes, Matt, it’s me, Karen.” She covers his right hand with hers and gives a light squeeze “You’re gonna be okay.”

But Matt’s eyelids finally give up the struggle as his face starts to slacken once again.  

“K’rn… mms’ry.”

Karen blinks and blinks and blinks. Her vision is blurry all of a sudden.

“Matt!”

He doesn’t respond.

It takes all her strength and then some, to get up and hide the vigilante gear instead of breaking down right there on the floor.

But after that, she’s back on the floor in a heartbeat, legs tucked under her, one hand covering Matt’s. Just holding on tight, as if she can somehow tether him to the here and now. As if he’ll disappear if she lets go. So she holds on until she finally hears the bitter ambulance sirens followed by the paramedics’ loud bangs on the door.

One of the hardest things Karen’s ever done in her entire life is to let Matt’s hand go to get up and open the door.

They rush into the apartment like some kind of force of nature. And all of a sudden, everything is happening all at once.

It’s too loud.

Someone turns on the lights.

It’s too bright.

Someone may have also told her to give them room to work, she’s not sure. So Karen stands in front of the closet – she isn’t sure if that decision has anything to do with what’s in this particular closet – and watches them. 

Someone comes to stand right in front of her. They must have asked her something, then. The man seems to be repeating the question slowly, a ginger arm extended towards her.

“I-I found him like this,” she hears herself say, voice distant. She doesn’t even know what the question was.

“Okay,” he enunciates slowly, almost coaxing, “Are you family?”

_Yes, I am._

The words are at the tip of her tongue but she keeps her mouth shut at the last moment. Yes, Matt is family. Matt and Foggy are all she has. But not really, not in the sense that he’s asking. And not really, not for some time, now.

So she shakes her head. “No, he’s – he’s my friend.”

“Alright. What’s your name?”

“Karen.”

“Alright, Karen, I need to ask you questions about your friend. Let’s start with an easy one, okay? What’s his name?”

“Matt – Matt Murdock,” she replies. But that’s wrong, she should have said Matthew Murdock. She’s about to correct herself when the paramedic starts talking again.

“Matt Murdock,” he recites, “How old is he?”

Karen blinks. Why does he keep asking him these useless questions? He should be helping Matt. “Thirty, he’s thirty.”

He nods and keeps talking. “Okay Karen, when did you find Matt?”

“I dunno,” she mutters, trying to see Matt from around the man standing smack in the middle of her line of sight.

“Karen, please, I need you to answer as best as you can.”

Karen sighs, dejected. “Fifteen minutes, maybe?” she wonders, “Twenty? I dunno, how long did it take you guys to get here?”

He nods like that’s an acceptable answer. Karen notices the clipboard in his hand for the first time.

“Was he conscious when you first found him?”

“No.”

Another nod.

“Does he have a history of this?”

Karen briefly considers what he means. Yes, Matt probably has a history of this because he gets beat up every night. She doubts that’s what he’s asking, though.

“Not as far as I know.”

But what the hell does she know about Matt? Up until six weeks ago, he was a normal, albeit exasperating guy. Before that he was a friend, and then someone she wanted to build something with. Now, he’s a vigilante.

The paramedic frowns, looking a bit frustrated with himself. “So no history of passing out, seizures or anything similar?”

Karen shakes her head. “No.”

“Does he have any medical problems – like diabetes, allergies or a heart condition?”

Karen wraps her arms around herself as she shakes her head once more. “No, no, he’s pretty healthy.”

She considers the question further as he quickly scribbles down a few words on his clipboard. It occurs to her only after a few seconds. “He’s blind!” she exclaims.

The man in front of her shoots her an inscrutable look from the top of his glasses, raising one brow. “He’s blind?”

“He’s blind?” echoes his partner from his position on the floor next to Matt. “That explains it.”

“Yes, he’s blind,” Karen vouches, wondering what exactly Matt’s blindness explains.

The paramedic questioning her throws a look over his shoulder at his partner and asks in an even tone. “No pupillary reflex?”

“None.”

So that means Matt’s eyes don’t respond to light, right? What else is new? Karen takes a deep breath and lets it out in a puff. “Is he – is he gonna be okay?” she asks with whatever little breath she’s got left. Her voice is this small, frail thing. She hates it.

The man in front of her turns back to face her and deflects the question with practiced ease. “We’ve got him, now,” he says, “Karen, do you know if he might have fallen down, hit his head?”

_More like got hit on the head but still –_

“I don’t know… He-he h-has accidents… s-sometimes.”

Karen’s always known she was good at lying. But lying to the EMTs? This must be a whole new low, even for her. But she’s not gonna just share Matt’s secret with the whole world. Matt wouldn’t want that. He wears that damn mask for a reason. And he’s gonna wear it again. ‘Cause he’s gonna be okay. They’re gonna take him to the hospital and he’s gonna be fine. He’s not even bleeding. Why wouldn’t he be okay? _Then why won’t he wake u –_

“Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey!” the paramedic exclaims loudly, holding a hand out towards her, palm up. “Karen, you need to calm down, okay? You’re gonna hyperventilate if you don’t calm down. Take a deep breath with me, alright?”

Karen’s already feeling a bit dizzy when he starts demonstrating. She blinks and takes a step back, trying to maintain her balance but she’s quickly steered towards the armchair across the couch. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s breathing into a paper bag.

Time stretches out on the armchair with half of her face buried inside the paper bag.

Matt is the first thing her eyes choose to focus on once she can see straight. They’ve put a mask over his face and a brace around his neck. His eyelashes are impossibly dark against his cheeks, even from a distance.

Karen lets the paper bag go and takes a deep breath, watching the two men lift Matt on a stretcher.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she mutters to herself, “He talked to me, he said my name… he has to be okay.”

One of the paramedics’ head snaps towards her abruptly – it’s the other one, not the one she was talking to before. He’s a big guy and lying on the stretcher he’s holding, Matt is practically dwarfed by him. It makes Karen uncomfortable to see how physically unimpressive Matt actually is. He might be in good shape, he might be a trained martial artist and he might be able to flip around on rooftops but at the end of the day, Matt is just an average sized guy with average strength. There’s only so much his body can take.  

“He said your name?” the big guy – no, the paramedic – prompts, “Was he conscious?”

“No,” she answers, feeling sluggish still. “But he – he opened his eyes, just for a couple seconds.” Then she declares, almost proud, “I was talking to him and he – he knew me, he knew my voice”.

_“I like listening to your voice.”_

That’s what Matt once told her.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

*

Foggy sits next to her, their shoulders leaning against one another, and listens, without interrupting her once.

He only has one question in the end.

“He said… he said he was sorry?”

 When Karen turns to face him, his eyes are drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> Long chapter, I know. But thanks for reading!
> 
> I haven't been writing anything for quite some time, now. But Daredevil won't leave me alone if I don't at least attempt to fix all that hurt in Season 2. So it got me writing again, yay :) 
> 
> Anyway, I don't have a beta so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this one!


End file.
